


Self (Esteem)

by Cenobia



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/F, Mental Health Issues, Obsession, Overworking, POV Second Person, Selfcest, Weirdness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:22:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24853021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cenobia/pseuds/Cenobia
Summary: Oh. You’ve cocked this up.You’ve cocked this up Primally.You were supposed to take care of her, to love us, yes. You were not supposed to seduce her and make us fall in love with you in our most vulnerable moment. Yet you did, and now you had the choice to either lay down in the bed you’ve metaphorically and ironically physically made, or--Nay, that was really your only viable choice.
Relationships: Esteem/Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





	Self (Esteem)

A weary Dark Knight roams the streets of the Lavender Beds. ‘tis the dead of night, and not even the most rowdy of adventurers are around to make a sound beyond the waterfall in the distance and the rustling of leaves. None of which she listens to. 

Once upon a time, she might have. Once upon a time, a bright-eyed young woman had arrived in the Black Shroud, keen to put what meager skill with a bow she had to make the world a better place. To help, however she could. However we could. Yet time, loss, betrayal and suffering wore that poor fool down to this. 

A lost soul wandering the night, aimlessly looking for something. Quite what, she did not know. But you knew, of course. You always did. It was your job, after all, to help her. To be there for us when no one else would. To stop us from mindlessly grinding ourselves into an early grave thanks to the tempering of Light.

Great work so far.

Not that she ever made it easy, of course. Even through all our efforts, she only paid us a token mind. Nodding along, lying with a smile, just like how we responded to any other request. That’s all we are, to her. Just something else she needs to get over with. To what? To move on to the next request, and then the next, until the realm somehow runs out of issues or we finally die?

A tired chuckle escapes our lips at that notion. 

“Not like even that is an option, lest some madmen decide to bend time and space itself again only to make sure of it.”

“So what? We walk aimlessly until you pass out or someone calls for us to save the world from danger, with a side of rescuing a coeurl from a tree?”

The next moment, steel slices the air in your direction, darkness trailing in its wake. Your gauntleted hand stops the blade ilms from your neck, the halfhearted swing not strong enough to even slice the soft lining covering your palm. Metal hits stone when she collapses at your feet, finally tired of running, of ignoring you, of mindlessly forging ahead because that’s all we know to do.

“What do you want?” Our voice is faint, hoarse. Why wouldn’t it be? We barely use it as is.

“For you to rest would be a start. To mayhaps listen to me more than once in our life would be another.”

A moment passes. Just how long, neither of us can say.

“Fine.” Her mouth mumbles it, if out of resignation. Not that she had to, of course. You would have heard it all the same. 

* * *

  
  


Had anyone seen the sight of a Hyur with bright red eyes carrying her doppelganger in her arms through the night, they’d have swore off drinking so much ever again. If one knew the truth, they’d likely swear off somnus as well.

Fate always had a way of making our tale exceedingly odd, after all. Not that it mattered, especially not tonight. For at least one night, the only thing that mattered was us. 

The only rustlings of movement in your arms were when she saw the place you were bringing her to.

“I forgot I had this place.”

You didn’t. You still remembered her joy when she finally found a plot open for purchase, our endless indecision when picking the furniture, our dreams of having a home you could go back to. Hopefully even one day have a family in.

Just one of the many dreams she left behind day after day with every little disappointment, with every single loss, with every shred of hope for the world or for herself that slowly extinguished.

“So you did.” A surprisingly careful boot snapped the lock of the door, allowing the mass of metal plates that were your form to make its way inside.

Blue eyes finally widened after you gently set her in the large bed, locked onto two particular objects behind you. An old but thoroughly cared for harp, resting besides a shield emblazoned with a unicorn emblem.

“I threw these away.”

Tears had already begun to form in her eyes by the time she noticed all the other items carefully kept around the bedroom. A wooden mask, a toy airship. A queer looking glass made for us by a scholar from the near east. A portrait of a burly samurai and his shinobi companion, an odd stringed instrument from the steppe.

“We didn’t.”

She sobbed against your chest while you held her close, carefully running your fingers through our hair. 

“I know you’ve given up on yourself. But I’ll never give up on us.”

While sobs turned into wails, you took the time to slowly, gently undo her armour. Your own came off in turn, but then again, how couldn’t it. You are but a reflection of her, feelings and shadow given form. Yet, as had been proven time and time again, that did not make you any lesser a person for it.

At least, from a certain point of view.

Eventually, you were simply caressing our back soothingly while she recovered, down to our undergarments, your chest drenched with tears unshed for far too long. Sharing in the feeling of being held, of holding someone dear to you, even while our head started to hurt after having cried so much. But you knew what to do.

“Can you wait for me here for a minute?”

For a few moments, you wondered if it was even possible for her to have fallen asleep without you noticing. Eventually, you felt her nod weakly against your chest.

It hurt us to separate like that, even temporarily. But she needed more than just a hug, even if that was still solidly at the top of the list. After setting the tub to fill with warm water, you returned with a cup of honeyed tea. 

It wasn’t much, but it’d do for now.

You watched her hold the porcelain in her hands, a curious daze gracing our tired features. 

“I haven’t bought any food for this place in years.”

A small smile escapes you while you settle behind her again, wrapping your arms softly around her midsection. “No, but we did. ‘Tis like I told you, I never gave up. I love you too far much to ever do so.”

Slowly, hesitantly, a hand was placed over your arms around her, holding them closer.

“I am sorry.”

You rest your chin over our shoulder, taking a deep breath. 

“I know. I forgive you, as long as you promise me something. Let me take care of you. Let me love us. Don’t ignore me anymore.” You can feel us shiver when you finish whispering those words in her ear. This time, the response is almost instant.

“I promise to do my best.”

Despite yourself, a knowing grin rises to your lips. “We do not know how to do things any other way, after all.” You feel reassured when she smiles faintly. It’s small, but it’s a victory. And you’ll cherish every single one of them. Said cherishing is not for long, when she offers you the last bits of honeyed tea. 

“I made it for you.”

“I know. But I want you to have some as well.”

You don’t know to be exasperated or touched at the gesture, settling for content resignation instead. “We are utterly hopeless.” Yet you accept the cup. 

It tastes nice. Nicer than it should. You push that thought aside.

“I believe the tub should be filled by now. I’ll take you there.” 

She offers no resistance when you wrap one arm under her knees, pulling her close to carry us safely. Her arms wrapping around your shoulders are somewhat of a surprise, but a pleasant one. At least we seem to feel a tad more alive. Truth be told, a small part of us had always dreamed of being carried in the arms of someone that loved us. Not quite in these circumstances, yet- 

Yet this was fine too.

The soothed daze she was in was only broken, much to your surprise, when you were about to help her finish undressing. Half-lidded blue eyes went wide at your hands touching our sides, starting to pull the soft hempen camise up.

“-‘T-’tis alright! I can do this part!” The scene would be comical if you were not bewildered at her furious blushing and stuttering. Dear gods, ‘tis true that we are inexperienced, but you are _her_. Your single raised eyebrow lets her know as much.

“I know, you are part of me, but at the same time-”

You wait for her to find the words. “I also respect you as your own person. If that makes any sense? I know I’ve not shown it properly but-”

A sigh escapes your lips while you embrace her again. “How you manage to both concern and honour us at the same time I’ll never know. But very well, I’ll let you do it yourself.” 

You flick her forehead gently after breaking the hug, undressing yourself more as a show of solidarity than actual need before stepping into the tub, seating yourself before offering her a steadying hand. You waste no time in pulling her close to sit in front of you so you can hug us from behind again, pleased at the lack of protest or resistance from her. Truth be told, you are being somewhat selfish at the moment. 

Yet, by definition, you are allowed to be. Vague definitions of morality tend to break down when physical manifestations of a divided psyche are involved. Up yours, philosophers.

A soft sigh distracts you from your self-satisfaction, her arms having covered yours around her waist, holding them in place. A small, silent request for you to not let go. One that you’re all too happy to oblige.

“‘Tis kind of ridiculous just how starved of affection and touch we are.” You softly nuzzle the side of our neck, further proving your point at just how soothing that feels.

“I’m sorry. I am just- afraid, I believe. The one time I even entertained the thought-”

_A blood-red sunset. A scream. “You’re most beautiful when you smile-_

You fiercely cut that memory short. 

“You needn’t remind me.”

“I’m sorry. But now you understand.” You sigh. ‘Tis true, you do. But simply pushing everyone away isn’t a solution. “It doesn’t always have to end like that. What about Aymeric? Or Alisaie? Or even G’raha?” These are all logical suggestions, after all. Yet they come bitter out of your mouth just the same.

You feel her leaning back onto our embrace a fraction of an ilm more at the tone of your whispers. Somewhere, in the depths of your mind, alarm bells are ringing like you’ve just invaded a Castrum. You make a point of ignoring them.

“Oh gods no, I’d never do that to Lucia. You know she has feelings for him. Plus, ‘tis- a bit too close to before for me to ever be comfortable with it.”

You hum in acknowledgement, instinctively nuzzling onto her neck again.

“And Alisaie, as much as it pains me to deny her, I just cannot do otherwise. You know as well as I do that if it came to that, she’d do the exact same thing. I cannot possibly risk that again.”

You hum again, though this time it comes out as more of a purr when your lips start touching our neck as well. 

“As for G’raha-” a warm sigh escapes her lips, interrupting the train of thought temporarily “-no way, no how. Not when he has a habit of hiding important things from me. I can’t trust someone like that.”

“And how about me?” You whisper in our ear, your voice uncharacteristically low and soft. Fluttering blue eyes try to focus on yours while she turns her head, distracted by your fingers caressing the far side of our neck gently while your other arm still holds us close.

“I- what?” Her response is tantalizingly, maddeningly breathless. You slowly close enough to feel your nose softly rubbing against hers, your lips but an ilm apart. 

“I cannot die before you do. I can’t keep secrets from you. And I can’t help but love you, forever. So, how about me?”

You are, categorically, cheating at this. Anyone in their right mind could tell as much. Good thing no one as such is nearby.

“People will think us mad.” Her protest is betrayed by the fact that rather than pulling away, we are hesitantly getting closer.

“Did that ever matter?” You already know the answer, of course. So did she, judging by how our lips met, first hesitantly and awkwardly, as is wont of someone that has never done it before. 

Yet, it seems two heads learn faster than one, since before long your tongue probes her lips before being gladly, needly, _desperately_ accepted and caressed with her own in kind while you support the back of our head gently.

You are far too lost in the feeling to pay much mind when she turns around in your embrace, only mildly noticing it when you feel us pull back from the kiss slightly, a gentle finger covering your lips to stop any halfhearted protest while she kisses her way to the spot where your shoulder meets your neck. You’d be arguing about wanting to be the one kissing us, here, were the reverse not just this wonderful. 

Which is likely the reason that she catches you completely off-guard with teeth pressing into your sensitive skin, her lips sealing the bite and sucking at the same time, not quite enough to draw blood but far plenty to leave a mark. Your back arches on instinct, seeking her touch, our warmth even closer, the mix of pain and pleasure forcing a whimper turned moan from your lips before she slowly pulls back, endless blue staring lovingly at fierce red.

“No, it really doesn’t matter.” You want to smile at our words, at how they make your heart soar, but the full weight of what just happened, what she’d just done meant, of what _you_ have caused, finally hits you.

Oh. You’ve cocked this up. 

You’ve cocked this up _Primally_.

You were supposed to take care of her, to love us, yes. You were not supposed to seduce her and make us fall in love with you in our most vulnerable moment. Yet you did, and now you had the choice to either lay down in the bed you’ve metaphorically and ironically physically made, or-

-Nay, that was really your only viable choice. At least the metaphorical side of said bed, her white hair streaked with red strands falling over your face, looked thoroughly enticing.

It’s only when her breath catches in her throat at her arms giving in, shakily resting on top of you, that you’re broken out of your self-reflection. ‘Tis a good thing, too. Ruminating on consequences takes second place to caring for us.

“I’m glad.” You hold her again, taking in her soothing scent, softly caressing her back. “I’ll help you bathe.” 

‘Bathe’ is not quite the right word for what follows, of course. It doesn’t normally involve more time spent with your lips somewhere on her body than otherwise, nor being as thorough and teasing with our breasts, behind, or lower lips as you were. You’d feel a pang of guilt at being this unfair were it now for how she melted into you, how her voice softly betrayed how much we enjoyed it, how her eyes locked onto yours with more and more longing behind them every single time.

Eventually, you were able to softly lay her in the large bed, both cleaned and dried. 

Well, mostly dried, but further rubbing only made the problem worse in this situation. Not that you were any better, the unfamiliar but very pleasant warmth in your chest and between our legs being quite distracting. Thankfully the sight of her in bed, flushed and short of breath, was far more distracting. 

For a moment, you ponder if it’s wise to push any further. You’ve already done a lot tonight, and she’s vulnerable enough as it is. Said moment is cut short rather categorically when you notice our hand outstretched towards you, beckoning you even while the other is trying to hide the fact that she’s blushing all the way to her ears.

Were you not too busy immediately kissing her and caressing the side of our waist and hips with one hand, you’d have heard the sound of what little self-restraint you had left shattering into a million pieces. Not that you’d care either way, not when every little reaction you get out of her, every shiver, whimper, hitched breath or moan feel like the most intoxicating drug in existence. The only thing you can do is search for more, to kiss your way down from her lips to the tips of her breasts, happily circling one of the engorged nubs with your tongue before using the offending organ to flick it, taking it into your mouth at the same time.

The way her body arches back in response and the hand caressing your hair twitches involuntarily is all the encouragement you need to focus your efforts there for a while, adding your fingers to the other side, gently caressing, squeezing, pulling and rubbing. It’d be pleasure enough even if the way our nipples felt against your tongue and fingers weren’t driving you mad all on their own, the wonderful contrast of firmness on top of plump softness only adding to the wetness between your own legs easily matching hers.

It felt downright traitorous to stop, but you wanted, _needed_ to feel and taste her more. The needy whimper that you heard when you started to kiss and lick your way further down only added to that desire. Yet you still held onto one last shadow of self-restraint, to not taste the honey you so desperately wanted, but instead take some moments to suckle your way from the inner side of the thigh you gently put over your shoulder and had an arm wrapped around, to entwine the fingers of your other hand with ours before you dove in, The faintly earthy scent and taste flooding your senses, our voice on top of it when you have barely licked inside the lips the last push needed for any remaining sense of restraint to go out of the window.

The only shred of thought left in the trance you fall into, your mind and soul filled only with her taste, her sounds, the way you watch her writhe through half-lidded eyes looking up at our body, is that you love this woman. More than it’s healthy. Far, far more than you should. Otherwise you wouldn’t be dripping wet yourself when you circle the sensitive bundle of nerves with the tip of your tongue again before a long, slow lick finished with a gentle flick that sends her moans into the deliriously high pitch that you’ve learned to yearn for regardless of your jaw having begun to protest the abuse it’s currently under. 

You’d continue, had you not noticed her pulling your hand shakily after the last peak, her body still spasming in waves every few seconds. With great effort, you disentangle yourself from our legs, laying beside her in bed while gently caressing her cheek and holding back a grin that threatens to make you look like an idiot. In your defense, you do simply feel that overwhelmingly happy.

“I’m here. I’ll always be here for you, love.” You make to nuzzle onto her neck, but we make it into a long, languid, pleasant kiss instead. You’re certainly not complaining, despite one of your hands absentmindedly caressing our body. Her messy, disheveled, dazed look after breaking the kiss is, by far, the most beautiful thing you’ve ever, or will ever, witness.

“I was afraid you’d continue until I passed out.” We take our turn to nuzzle into you, with what little muscle control she has left. “And- me too. I love you too.” 

You wrap your arms around her, gently pulling her into an embrace. “I’m sorry.” You are entirely not. “I will admit to completely losing control when you began to sing that sweetly for me. I just couldn’t get enough.” That part was true. 

“Well, aren’t you the cunning linguist. I thought I was supposed to be the ex-bard?” You kiss her again, enjoying the soft sigh that escapes our lips when your hand caresses the side of her hips with second, third and fourth intentions.

“Perhaps, but with such a gorgeous instrument in my hands, it would be criminal to not give it a try, don’t you agree?” You can’t help the grin on your lips when she tries to hide her face in embarrassment with a shaking hand. The dichotomy between happily kissing you after your face is covered in our taste, yet shying away from a compliment was adorable, to say the least.

“I- I wanted to try it one last time while you’re kissing me.” You’re not quite sure how a being made of darkness-aspected aether can feel their heart skip a beat, but you do anyway. At this rate, this woman is going to be the death of you. And you have only yourself to blame.

“As you wish, princess.” You catch her eyes widening for a second before your lips meet and your tongue starts caressing hers again. The way you can feel her mouth vibrate slightly at the moan you cause when your fingers softly caress her lips is downright addictive. 

You are cheating again, of course. Her request reminded you that one of her dreams years ago was to have a lover call us that before a kiss. A cliché, perhaps, but one you are only too happy to oblige. And after all, haven’t you been treating her like one the whole night? It wasn’t your fault you knew our heart like the back of your hand. It’d be more wrong to not use what you knew to make her happy. The saying did go ‘In love and war’.

You feel her body tense a bit when you press the tip of your index against her opening. You know we’d never tried this before, but tonight was a night of many firsts.

That and, quite honestly, you wanted to do it. You wanted a way to ‘mark’ her as yours, to take something no one else could, to know that we _belonged_ to you, and only you. In your defense, she bit you first.

“Tell me if it hurts, okay?” You resume the kiss, her response reduced to an awkward nod before you slowly slide your finger deeper, brushing against our wet, hot, _maddeningly_ velvety insides until it’s all the way in, using the base of your thumb to softly caress her sensitive nub outside at the same time. The way a sigh turns into a whimper and into a moan against your mouth is the reward, her tongue seeking contact with yours more every time you slide it almost all the way out, making sure to seek the one slightly rougher spot near the top that makes us melt with each movement.

You didn’t even think she had enough energy left to arch her back, but you prove yourself wrong when the addition of your middle finger to your index makes us do just that. The fact that even your fingers feel obscenely good being caressed by her insides, our walls tightening around them every other movement, makes you wish for a moment that you had a ‘proper’ member to take her with. Then again-

Hmm. You’ll keep that in mind.

“Hold o-on. Hold on.” You acquiesce with her breathless request, not pulling your fingers out but reducing the movement to only slowly caressing her button. “I don’t want to do it alone.”

“You’re not. I’m right here for you.” You kiss your way down her jaw, happy to feel her cheeks rise into a smile. 

“I know. But I want us to sing together.” For the first time, you feel her fingers caressing and probing your own entrance. With how drenched and sensitive you are after pleasuring only us for so long, even her gentle touch is easily enough to send a jolt of pleasure that runs through your entire body, teasing a needy whimper out of your mouth.

You’re not used to the feeling of your face burning up to your ears, but the way she’s smiling at you, like you’re the most precious treasure in the world, makes up for it. 

Just about.

It takes you a few breaths to calm down enough to be able to answer us without looking away. “I’d be happy to. You perv-” Your tease is stopped halfway and turned into a melty, leg-shaking moan when you feel two fingers slowly but steadily sliding inside you, spreading your insides apart gently and sending a long spike of pleasure spreading from your core to everywhere else in your body. 

Just how can her fingers feel this hot and thick and _deliriously_ good inside you is a mystery, but there’s no way you can last very long if we start-

Your own voice breaks your train of thought when she pulls her fingers back before sliding them in again, using her thumb to play with your own point just like you did to ours, a kiss interrupting what you’re fairly sure was a stream of expletives. It only serves to make the situation worse, the feeling of her mouth on yours, her tongue invading your mouth like her fingers are inside you below reminding you that one of her fantasies was finding out just how it felt for a lover to take her just like that.

Torturously delicious, it turns out. Oh, sod this.

You kiss her back, letting your instincts take over to pleasure us in return, your hand settling into a rhythm with hers while your tongues seek each other's contact more and more finding ways to not let go no matter how vocal either one ends up being. Perhaps expectedly, your rising pleasure peaks through and washes over at the same time as ours does, both of our shaking bodies seeking as much contact as possible while riding the feeling, melting together into a whimpering pile of sweat, sloppy kisses and whispers of love. 

Only when your mind is about to snap from the sensation does it finally, slowly, dies down. You don’t even remember where you are or when it is, all it matters is to be close to _her_ . To taste her, to feel our scent, to follow the one overwhelming need to **be with us** right now while your presence of mind slowly returns amid shivers from your bodies.

It’s perfect. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted. She is everything you’ve ever wanted, and you finally have us. It’s an absolutely intoxicating feeling. 

You’re keeping this. You’re keeping her, and that is not negotiable. 

It wasn’t before either, now that you think about it. But now you’ll happily take down the entire star if that’s what it takes. 

It’s only her soft, almost kitten-like snoring that finally brings you back to reality. Your cheeks hurt from smiling, and your body feels like a flan. And that’s alright, because there’s only one thought that fills your mind when you softly pull her close after covering your naked forms with a thin blanket. 

You gaze at the expression lines below her eyes, there far before their time yet only making her more beautiful. 

A soundless word leaves your lips.

**“Mine.”**

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
